


Such Sweet Ruin

by Lenore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, F/M, Goddesses, Incest, M/M, POV Outsider, Temptation, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A goddess who deals in temptation would have a field day with these two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Sweet Ruin

In the old days, she was known as Agrat bah Mahalat, as Naamah, Igirit. They had many names for her, always said in a hush, if at all. Men feared that if they spoke of her she would come to them. That always made her smile, because whether they used her name or not, she still paid her visits. Torment was her nature, ruin her pleasure, to entice the religious man away from his holy books with a glimpse of her shining black hair, to stir up the puritan's longing with the whisper of her breath, to flash like a star in the sea captain's eyes, making him forget all caution in his need for her, the pitiful cries of his crew playing like music in her ears long after the ship was lost.

The world was a much different place now, smaller, more mundane, or perhaps it was just the people. She remembered wistfully their epic yearnings of old, souls crying out for God from the wilderness of their own unspeakable desires, the burning need for knowledge fighting an eternal battle with the futile wish to be pure. The modern mind was a cramped place in comparison, all here and now, no trembling sense of eternity, no honest notion of hell. She still played her games of course, but the havoc she created was merely personal. There wasn't even a name for her anymore.

So when she found a real prize, rare occasions indeed, she made the most of the opportunity. Funny thing was she hadn't come looking for the brothers. She'd actually been hunting a young policeman who worked that block, a flawed man with a savior complex. Every night, she'd appear alongside the working girls, dressed liked one of them in a skirt that was too short and a halter top, no underwear. There was something to be said for the modern idea of clothing, at least. Up and down the block she'd sashay whenever the young officer was watching, flash him a smile full of wicked promises. She could see human thoughts, and she knew his need to save was matched by a desire to take. Each night she reeled him in a little more, pulling him closer to that line he was never supposed to cross.

But then chance intervened so beautifully with a tap on the shoulder. "Excuse me, miss, could I ask you a few questions?"

She'd turned, angry at the interruption, but then those dark eyes, that bleak look. Her mouth twisted into a smile. It had been so long since she'd come across a crusader.

"For you, honey, anything," she told him, delighted at the telltale blush that crept up his cheeks. "Name's Ursula." It was as good as any other.

"I'm Sam. This is Dean."

She gave the other one the once-over. He had the bruised look of someone who tried too hard to laugh at his own suffering. Quite the pair.

In fact, "Brothers."

The one called Sam frowned. "How did you—"

"You need good instincts in my line of work," she told him with a wink. "So, questions?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, his austere expression returning, like one of the cloistered monks of old she'd always had so much fun with. "We wondered if you'd—seen anything odd around here lately."

She raised an eyebrow.

"More odd than usual," he clarified.

"Maybe there's been some guy coming around with some kinky requests?" the other one, Dean, chimed in. "Blood play. That kind of stuff."

She shifted closer. So they were _that_ kind of crusader. How delicious.

"Well, now that you mention it, some of the girls have mentioned something like that. Never run into him myself. Should I be worried?"

They exchanged a glance.

"This guy, he's—well, it'd be better to steer clear of him," Sam told her. "If you see anything, if there's any trouble, we're staying over there." He pointed to the by-the-hour hotel across the street.

She gave him a smile, the echo of a dead woman in it, making his eyes go wide. "I'll be sure and remember that."

They walked off, and all the way down the block, he kept looking back over his shoulder. She could see the dead woman's face so clearly in his thoughts, hear his fear, _Maybe I didn't love her enough._

In her day, she'd commanded an army of a hundred thousand malicious spirits, and she could still stir up a few when she needed them. If her crusading brothers wanted demons, then demons they would get.

She unleashed the attacks randomly, nothing too ghastly, just a little spilt blood. It was amusing to watch the brothers run here and there, all over the place, trying to stop what was only smoke and air. More amusing still when she visited them at night, stepped inside their dreams, stirred the dark places inside them that were remarkably alike.

If she'd been capable of such a thing, she might have found it touching how they took turns checking on her. Since she was herself, she merely saw it as an opportunity.

Sam brought her coffee and tried to talk sense into her.

"Ursula, it's not safe out here," he said very earnestly. "Can't you at least take a night off?"

"Sitting home watching _Survivor_ isn't going to pay the rent, honey." She took a step closer, slid a hand up his shoulder. "Maybe you'd like to help me out with that?"

He shifted nervously. "I don't think—"

She laughed. "I was only joking." She leaned in to whisper in his ear, borrowing the dead woman's voice, "I like you, Sam. I wouldn't make you pay for it."

Heat and confusion poured off him, and she wound an arm around his neck, took his mouth in a kiss, her breath mingling with his.

"You can pretend I'm her," she said softly enough that he'd be second-guessing it all night.

She ran a finger down his fly, hardness beneath her hand. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and she managed one more kiss before he stumbled back, eyes wide and alarmed. "I'd better go. My brother's waiting for me."

She smiled. "I'll be here. If you change your mind."

The other brother came bearing gifts too, equally practical. The pictures in his head were just as clear and just as guilty as his brother's, a thought wound around them like a ribbon, _Maybe I love him too much._

"I got you something. It's—" He rooted around for a convincing lie, but finally gave up. "Look, if I told you what it was, you'd just think I was crazy. But if that guy attacks you, throw it at him and run like hell, okay?"

He pressed a vial into her hand, holy water of course, on a string even, so she could wear it around her neck.

"Sweet," she told him and surprised him with a kiss.

He cracked a grin. "I don't think anybody has ever called me that before."

She shrugged. "I'm not just anybody. I see things other people miss." She laid a hand flat against his chest. "You know what I see when I look at you, Dean? Someone who's been way too lonely." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "I get lonely too sometimes."

He was easier to convince than his brother, wrapped around her in an instant, kissing frantically, knee nudging between her thighs. She pulled at his shirt, slid her hands underneath, over bare skin, making him hiss.

"Yes," she urged him. "Whatever you want. You can even pretend I'm him."

He flinched to a stop, and she took his face in her hands, made him look into her eyes. "No judgment."

Another kiss, and he was utterly hers. She pulled down his zipper, pushed his underwear out of the way, got her hand on his cock. When he came some moments later, he did it calling for his brother.

"We all want something we can't have," she said as he turned and hurried away.

If there was one thing she had learned through the ages, it was that the best way to get at heroes was simply to let them do what came naturally. Easy to accomplish when you commanded an army of demons. She waited until the brothers were nearby one evening, and then summoned one of her spirits out to play. She ran and screamed like the silliest mortal who had ever lived. The spirit chased her, caught her by arm, whirled her around, threw her down, bared its teeth, just in time for Sam and Dean to come racing to the rescue. A splash of holy water from Sam, sure-handed Dean wielding the stake, and the spirit gave her a private wink as it pretended to turn to dust.

"Ursula!" Sam rushed to help her up. "Are you okay?"

"Just a little scraped up," she said in a brave voice, showing off a bloody knee.

She took a step, faked a limp.

"Come on," Dean said, in his take-charge voice. "Let's get you inside. Put something on that."

They helped her up to their room, sat her down on the edge of the bed.

"These are pretty much ruined, right?" Dean asked, hands hovering above the tear in her stockings.

"'Fraid so, honey."

He ripped them to get at the cut on her knee. Sam came back from the bathroom carrying bandages and disinfectant.

"You're well supplied."

"Um," Sam stuttered. "We're just—"

"A couple of Boy Scouts?"

He smiled, relieved not to have to explain. "Something like that."

Dean mopped off the blood, the illusion of it at least, and bandaged her up. Big, gentle hands, and she was really going to enjoy this.

"Thanks," she told him, got up, stumbled dramatically.

Dean scrambled to his feet to steady her.

Sam frowned with worry. "You're not going back out there, are you?"

She brushed the hair back from her face and sighed. "I guess not." She held Sam's eye. "You know, I can't remember the last time anybody cared what happened to me. Why don't you let me thank you?" She put a hand on his shoulder. "Both of you." And the other hand on Dean's.

"That's not—Sam said.

Dean said, "No thanks necessary—"

She tilted her head. "How often am I grateful?" A kiss for Sam. "How often do you get laid?" One for Dean.

A charge in the air, the crackle of desire, the humid, heavy scent of need. She kissed them, more wildly, first one brother then the other, back and forth, again and again. When they were breathing too hard and too fast, she took a chance, popped the buttons on Sam's shirt, ran a lacquered nail over his chest, undid Dean's pants, stroked the soft skin at his waist.

Sam pulled backed sharply, color rising in his cheeks. "No. I—" He shook his head. "I can't do this."

"What's wrong, honey? I'm not your type?"

"No! You're—" He stared at her, helplessly. "But we're—" He shot a look at his brother. "It's just not right."

She shrugged. "It's not like you're going to have sex with each other."

She kissed him again, softly this time, her breath to his breath, sweet, sweet reassurance. Then she pulled her dress over her head, all she was wearing, and let it drop to the floor. "Now, who wants to go first?"

They both just stared.

She laughed. "That makes it my choice, I guess." She gave both an appraising look and finally turned to Sam, "I think I'll start with you."

Still so likely to balk, and she couldn't take the chance of waiting to get him into bed. She sank to her knees, opened his pants, went right to work.

"Please," he said in a shaky voice, and she couldn't tell if he meant "stop" or "more."

So she lifted her head, looked up at him with a winsome smile that belonged to someone else.

His mouth fell open in disbelief, and she went back to pleasing him.

"God," he moaned.

She kept making him say it until it was the only word he seemed to know. Then she rose to her feet, stripped off his clothes with a practiced touch, took him by the hand. Her eyes met Dean's as she led his brother to the bed, a dark glitter in the greater darkness of the room.

She lay down and pulled Sam on top of her. That seemed right for her oddly innocent boy. She made a place for him between her legs, and he fumbled at first, self-conscious having his brother watching. She whispered in his ear, "You feel so good. I want you so much." He kissed her neck, took his cock in his hand, guided it toward her. She surged up to meet him, and then he was inside.

"God." It was his brother who gasped.

Sam trembled, and she kissed him. He started to move, earnest strokes, his face pressed hotly against the curve of her throat. Fleshy, breathy noises came from a few feet away, Dean propped heavily against the wall, eyes focused on them, hand in his pants. She wrapped her legs around Sam, rubbed her foot along his spine, across his ass, giving Dean even more to watch.

Sam liked to kiss while he fucked, and she held on to him, murmuring his name. When he came, his entire body jerked to a stop, and he went utterly silent. Afterwards he couldn't stop shaking. Jumbled thoughts in his head, his brother and the dead girl, and Ursula kissed him, stroked his hair until he was able to get up. A war between guilt and longing in his face as he moved away, letting Dean approach, their bodies passing in the darkness, naked and vulnerable.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, and she shifted onto her side, head resting on her hand. He took a moment just to look, and then he was on her, a force of nature, tongue in her mouth, hands on her breasts. She felt him breathe in heavily, and she closed her eyes and smiled, knowing he could smell his brother on her.

He tumbled her onto her back, but she laughed, wriggled out from under him. "You'll like it better this way," she said, pushing him back against the headboard, straddling his lap, "trust me."

He smiled up at her, the sharp glint of his teeth, and then he took her hips in his hands and pulled her down onto him.

"Mmmm," she sighed.

"God," he groaned.

Sam had taken up Dean's old spot along the wall, watching despite himself. Even from ten feet away, she could feel the heat starting to build again along his skin. She rested her cheek against Dean's as they moved together, and Dean stared at his brother over her shoulder.

"It's only you and him," she whispered.

He pushed into her more urgently, and there was no mistaking the sound of flesh on flesh coming from Sam.

She could feel the tremors in Dean's thighs, his fingers curled into her skin, a grip that would have left bruises if she were actually made of bone and blood.

She pressed a kissed to his temple. "Sometimes you _can_ get what you want."

He came a moment later calling, "Sammy!"

She pulled off him and drank it all in, what she lived for, the tar-heavy emotions swirling in the room, barbs of guilt and shame and lust, such pretty pain.

"Well, gotta get back to work," she said with brutal casualness and slid off the bed, shimmied back into her dress.

One last kiss for Dean, one for Sam. And then just because she really did like Sam, she leaned in and whispered, "It wouldn't have made a difference, no matter how much you loved her."

She started for the door, and even with her back turned, she could feel Dean and Sam locked in a fierce battle of "what now." No real doubt, though, because Dean was already getting up from bed, moving toward his brother, before she was all the way out the door. She strolled down the hall, smiling. She didn't have to be there to see it, to know. The first time Sam cried out his brother's name it could mean anything, please or stop, but the second, torn right out of him, was beyond all question. Dean would fall heavily to his knees, rubbed red by the cheap carpet. Wet-eager sounds would fill the room until there was no way back for either of them. Such sweet boys, such sweet ruin.

Outside, the night gave up its strength to the glow of neon. People streamed past, alone and in groups, and Ursula fell in with them. She was beginning to like this new name, liked that it would always be tangled up with those beautiful, wrecked brothers. She walked along the avenue, kept going until she'd crossed the invisible line that divided the wrong and right sides of town. Something pulled at her attention, and she stopped to look. On the other side of the street, a young woman stood looking at dresses in a store window. The woman's life started to flash before Ursula's eyes, her only lover her fiancée, the wedding a few weeks away, fear in the back of her mind. _Maybe I'm missing out on something._

Ursula stopped at the corner to wait for the light. As she crossed the street, she started to change, her stride growing longer, steps heavier, center of gravity altering. Times being what they were, temptation was an equal opportunity sport.

"Excuse me, miss?" Ursula said in her newly acquired masculine voice. "I was wondering if you could help me? I seem to be lost."

The woman glanced up, into a face she'd seen in dreams, her mouth falling open in surprise, and this was the moment that Ursula loved most, that shocked look of want.

Twisting these feeble creatures really was so satisfying.


End file.
